“Privat” later for what he knew others thought was more intimate time.
Amber was a superb hostess. She steered clear of politics during dinner, amusing him with anecdotes of peacekeepers’ gossip. She was also a good listener, letting him bring up various topics that interested both of them—the new opera in town, the book he was currently reading, the big wedding of a mutual friend. There was not one mention of the latest bombing victim just a few streets from the café. Or the news of the restaurant downtown that had to shut down because the owner had mysteriously disappeared. Or the scandal about a number of peacekeepers caught literally with their pants down in a kafena .
They retired into the back room for drinks and dessert. Brad settled back in the sofa comfortably, sipping his wine, as he watched Amber bring in a covered dish.
“Did you hear that the younger prince of Modevia gave up his eligibility to be second in line so he could marry his civilian sweetheart?” Amber asked, as she served him a piece of cheesecake.
“I read it in the paper,” Brad said, taking a bite of the dessert. It was strawberry cheesecake. “This is simply delicious, Amber.”
“Have another piece.” She smiled. “Take some home.”
“Thanks. That would be…” Brad put down his fork. “Hello, Llallana.”
Llallana Noretski was slim and tall, her dark coloring a direct contrast to her girlfriend’s. She was dressed in a pantsuit, with swirling patterns that reminded him of a bright sunset. She walked slowly into the room, carefully studying everything around her. Brad knew from past observation that she never moved her head but her dark eyes were constantly darting, taking in every little thing. They were large, fanned by long eyelashes that she sometimes peered under, especially when she was pretending not to look at him.
“Hope I’m not interrupting dinner or anything,” she said, without returning Brad’s greeting. She sat down across on the adjacent sofa seat. “But I heard you wanted to see me?”
Brad had casually asked Amber a few weeks ago when Llallana was coming back into town, using business as an excuse. It was frustrating he couldn’t bring up what she was doing because he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have any knowledge of any illegal activities. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder. The woman sitting nearby seemed incapable of doing anything illegal other than attending the art soirees in Europe to bid for her clients.
Fine, she didn’t want niceties. “How did the last trip go?” he asked.
Llallana shrugged. “Didn’t Amber tell you that it went fine? If there was anything wrong, I’m sure she’d have informed you.”
Amber had silently retreated to a corner of the sofa. Brad suspected she was hiding a smile behind the cup of coffee. Unlike with her, he was always sparring with Llallana Noretski.
“I just wanted more details,” he said.
“I thought you said before that you didn’t want any details,” Llallana retorted. “Didn’t he, Amber?”
“I think Brad meant that certain things, like how you secured the passports and whom you talked to, are off-limits,” Amber said smoothly. “He’s interested in where the girls are and how they’ll fend for themselves in their new homes, Lily.”
“Is that right, Brad?” Llallana asked, her brows arching sardonically. “As long as your hands are clean, hmm?”
“We’re on the same side on this,” Brad said softly. “You know I want to help those girls as much as you do.”
“And you’ve been helping,” Amber assured him.
“Then why doesn’t he take scum like Dilaver off the street?” demanded Llallana, her eyes blazing with sudden fire. “You have the power, don’t you, Brad? Or are you just a puppet?”
He wasn’t going to discuss UN protocol with her. She wouldn’t understand how his hands were tied by votes and red tape. He put down his glass of wine. “We all have a job to do, although you seem
Amber was a superb hostess. She steered clear of politics during dinner, amusing him with anecdotes of peacekeepers’ gossip. She was also a good listener, letting him bring up various topics that interested both of them—the new opera in town, the book he was currently reading, the big wedding of a mutual friend. There was not one mention of the latest bombing victim just a few streets from the café. Or the news of the restaurant downtown that had to shut down because the owner had mysteriously disappeared. Or the scandal about a number of peacekeepers caught literally with their pants down in a kafena .
They retired into the back room for drinks and dessert. Brad settled back in the sofa comfortably, sipping his wine, as he watched Amber bring in a covered dish.
“Did you hear that the younger prince of Modevia gave up his eligibility to be second in line so he could marry his civilian sweetheart?” Amber asked, as she served him a piece of cheesecake.
“I read it in the paper,” Brad said, taking a bite of the dessert. It was strawberry cheesecake. “This is simply delicious, Amber.”
“Have another piece.” She smiled. “Take some home.”
“Thanks. That would be…” Brad put down his fork. “Hello, Llallana.”
Llallana Noretski was slim and tall, her dark coloring a direct contrast to her girlfriend’s. She was dressed in a pantsuit, with swirling patterns that reminded him of a bright sunset. She walked slowly into the room, carefully studying everything around her. Brad knew from past observation that she never moved her head but her dark eyes were constantly darting, taking in every little thing. They were large, fanned by long eyelashes that she sometimes peered under, especially when she was pretending not to look at him.
“Hope I’m not interrupting dinner or anything,” she said, without returning Brad’s greeting. She sat down across on the adjacent sofa seat. “But I heard you wanted to see me?”
Brad had casually asked Amber a few weeks ago when Llallana was coming back into town, using business as an excuse. It was frustrating he couldn’t bring up what she was doing because he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have any knowledge of any illegal activities. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder. The woman sitting nearby seemed incapable of doing anything illegal other than attending the art soirees in Europe to bid for her clients.
Fine, she didn’t want niceties. “How did the last trip go?” he asked.
Llallana shrugged. “Didn’t Amber tell you that it went fine? If there was anything wrong, I’m sure she’d have informed you.”
Amber had silently retreated to a corner of the sofa. Brad suspected she was hiding a smile behind the cup of coffee. Unlike with her, he was always sparring with Llallana Noretski.
“I just wanted more details,” he said.
“I thought you said before that you didn’t want any details,” Llallana retorted. “Didn’t he, Amber?”
“I think Brad meant that certain things, like how you secured the passports and whom you talked to, are off-limits,” Amber said smoothly. “He’s interested in where the girls are and how they’ll fend for themselves in their new homes, Lily.”
“Is that right, Brad?” Llallana asked, her brows arching sardonically. “As long as your hands are clean, hmm?”
“We’re on the same side on this,” Brad said softly. “You know I want to help those girls as much as you do.”
“And you’ve been helping,” Amber assured him.
“Then why doesn’t he take scum like Dilaver off the street?” demanded Llallana, her eyes blazing with sudden fire. “You have the power, don’t you, Brad? Or are you just a puppet?”
He wasn’t going to discuss UN protocol with her. She wouldn’t understand how his hands were tied by votes and red tape. He put down his glass of wine. “We all have a job to do, although you seem
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